“Divide and conquer.” Jean-Louis shook his head. “Otherwise, I am sure no one would get any sleep. We used to all bunk together, after all, eh, Dominique?”
Dom had just entered and nodded gravely at Jean-Louis. “I seem to recall it was Cédric who kept us all up.”
What would it have been like to grow up with these brothers? Manu had trained and bunked with other boys his age once Dom and Aurore took him in, but never with brothers. He was so much younger than the others he felt like he was from a different generation.
Cédric shoved Dom’s shoulder. “I usually got blamed. But whose idea was—”
“Manu!” Aurore strode across the room from where she had been holding Sandrine’s hands as they talked in low voices. “Aren’t you ready? How did you get that big bruise?”
“Ready?” Manu stepped back.
“We’re going to go down before dinner and rub shoulders with the court. Talk and mingle and introduce you to everyone you don’t know yet. I don’t know if the whole family has been up at court at the same time in years. I think it will be a good show of solidarity. Sandrine will oversee the children and our dinner. Papa said he has been asked questions about Vainqueur already and has been trying to direct them to your mare. But you have to change. And put something on your bruise.” She grasped his chin gently and tilted his face toward the light, glowering at the injured spot, which was probably darkening.
“I’ve invited Mademoiselle de Fouet to dinner.”
Conversation around him stopped as his family looked up in surprise. Aurore smiled hugely and released his face to clap her hands. “Oh, excellent! Papa is going to sit with Maman, but the rest of us are dining in Cédric and Sandrine’s room. I’ll send someone to tell Mademoiselle de Fouet where to meet us. Sandrine, did you hear? One more for dinner. Is she in Maman’s room now?”
“I…” Manu glanced at the others, who were watching him closely. “I left her there, when I came in from the stables.”
He could feel his cheeks heat. Henri smirked.
“Well? Go change. Your very best.” Aurore fluttered her hand toward his room.
It was probably only an hour later, but it felt like at least five of bowing and being introduced to hundreds of people. He would begin conversations only to be dragged off by Aurore’s firm grasp on his arm or a wave from Cédric. Sometimes it was a nod from Jean-Louis, bringing him to the attention of army officers who might need war horses. He explained a dozen times Vainqueur was not for sale but his gray mare was, and that he had several equally beautiful horses in Poitou he hoped to bring up to Paris. He sighed for his horses.
He spotted a few familiar faces as they circulated. Some of the young men he dueled with greeted him cheerfully. Others pretended they didn’t see him or nodded ungraciously.
Lucas de Granville, as formal and somber as ever, greeted him with what appeared to be as much relief as his own at finding a friendly face. They had been allowed to play together sometimes as boys and had made a vow to protect each other from the bigger boys. He wondered if they would still hold to that vow, if necessary.
Lucas leaned toward Manu and murmured, “My godfather is praying for your mother.”
Manu winced. The news was out. “Thank him on my behalf, please.”
“He…” Lucas grimaced. “He says it is punishment for her reconciling with your father.”
Manu nearly growled. “You would think he would be pleased to have them remember, ‘What God has joined together, let not man put asunder.’ ” And how often did Manu find himself quoting holy writings?
Lucas shook his head. “My godfather is not always rational when it comes to influence. He is quite pious, but…” He shrugged.
Manu nodded. D’Yquelon’s piety was overbearing yet somehow flexible when it came to the man’s own family. At least Maman had been consistent in condemning lapses in her family and friends, though he could not think of it as kind.
Lucas murmured again, “How is Mademoiselle de Fouet bearing up? They are not accusing her, I hope.”
“As a family, we’re sure she is not to blame.” Manu shook his head. He was convinced of it and would defend her to the end.
Lucas smiled in relief. “Tell her to come to me if she needs any help. We’ve always been friends.”
Manu had to crush a wave of jealousy.
“She might disagree, but I have always thought of her as a little sister.” Lucas shrugged again. “Maybe a cousin. An ally, anyway.”
Manu felt twin urges to thank Lucas for his past support of Catherine and to shove him hard and demand he never see Catherine again. He managed to breathe and remember that this was a friend, someone who trusted Catherine and whom she probably trusted. And besides, it was Manu who had kissed her. He doubted Lucas would have been so presumptuous.
Finally, the family excused themselves and made their way up a grand staircase. Manu found himself between Jean-Louis and Henri, trailing along silently behind Aurore, who was waving her free hand as she talked with her husband and Cédric.
“They’re exhausting.” Henri’s voice startled Manu.
“Who?”
Henri flicked his hand toward the three in front. “I can barely keep myself from screaming and hiding after being bumped into and talked over and seeing all those simpering faces, and there are Aurore and Cédric, ready for more.”
Manu nodded. “The worst are the ones who know me from when I was a boy but I have no recollection of them. I’m certainly not going to remember their names now, and someone is going to get offended.”
Jean-Louis shrugged. “I am sure we’ve lost sales because I didn’t remember some gentleman with whom I spoke in a crowd. If they seem eager, I write their names down right away and give them the address of the showroom.”
Henri chuckled. “Then Fourbier handles it.”
“He could sell poison to rats,” said Jean-Louis.
All three of them paused at the word “poison,” thinking of their mother and the other rumors of recent suspicious illnesses and deaths.
Henri glanced at the other two. “We should call on our mother before dinner, n’est-ce pas?”
Their mother was sleeping and their father in a somber mood, working on account books just outside her bedchamber. Catherine was ready to dine with them. Her bodice and skirts were still dull and not at all fashionable, but she had tied her hair up with a pretty red ribbon, and her brooch glinted from her cleavage. Manu’s heart beat faster to see her cheeks turn pink when she looked at him.
All through dinner he was distracted by watching Aurore drag Catherine into conversation and wishing he were seated closer to her.
After dinner, Sandrine and Jean-Louis went with Manu as he accompanied Catherine back to her room, ostensibly to look in on Maman. Jean-Louis was leaving in the morning to go home to Hélène and his other children, leaving his son Marcel behind. Manu wondered if anyone was going to get any sleep, since the boy and Dario were manic with excitement.
When they arrived, Sandrine and Jean-Louis stepped into Maman’s room, and Manu found himself alone with Catherine. He couldn’t think of anything to say, his brain slow due to the late hour, the heavy dinner, and a few glasses of wine. She sat and stared at her hands, blushing and removing her gloves slowly.
“Would you like to go riding tomorrow?” His voice was raspy and higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat.
She glanced up at him and assessed him for a few seconds before looking away. “I would like it very much.”
“I mean, if the rain stops long enough for the gravel paths to dry.” He cleared his throat. “In the morning, I will practice swords.”
“With your brothers?” She looked worried.
“Possibly. I will ask them if they would like to come. The boys would probably like a lesson.” He remembered d’Oronte was usually there and was sorry he had mentioned it.
She must have remembered d’Oronte too, as her cheeks paled. “I will sit with your mother in the morning, but I
could ride in the afternoon.”
“Excellent. I’ll meet you here?”
He lifted her hand to his lips. The heat of the soft skin of the back of her hand made him dizzy. He kissed her hand again, then brought her palm to his cheek. He could hear his own heart beat in his ears. He bent down and brushed his lips against hers, her breath leaving her in a gasp.
“Manu.” Jean-Louis’s voice pulled him out of his dream, and he stood, the spot on his cheek where Catherine’s hand had touched burning from within.
“Come say good night to the baronesse.” Sandrine smiled at him, more sly than he had ever seen her.
Manu’s blush burned hot. “Of course.” He turned back to Catherine and bowed deeply. “Good night, Mademoiselle. I will see you tomorrow at noon?”
She muttered something and bowed her head to him, her bare neck so graceful it sent a spear of longing through him.
Jean-Louis cleared his throat, and Manu snapped to attention before fleeing into his mother’s room.
Catherine was gone and the door to her bedchamber closed when he came out, blushing from his mother’s complaints about his bruised cheek. Jean-Louis waited silently near the door, his arm across Sandrine’s shoulders in protection and brotherly affection. Manu held out his arm, and Sandrine took it with a smile.
I could give this protection to Catherine.
He had only met her a few days before, but he wanted her to be safe. He wanted her rather desperately. The only thing he had ever wanted as much was to raise horses. Would he be happy with any of the girls on his father’s list of prospective brides? The three he had met so far were less interesting than Catherine. He hadn’t felt an urge to kiss any of them. He had to admit that, at first, he had seen Catherine as an encumbrance. Now he could forgive her for being his mother’s ally.
He paused as they rounded a corner, and Sandrine glanced up at him, sympathetic. He glanced at Jean-Louis, who waited patiently.
Manu wondered if he could forgive his mother. Perhaps he already had. He wondered if his brothers and sister may have, also, but a hallway of the palace was not the place to trade secrets.
Their father’s apartment was full of boys pretending to fence each other even as nursemaids tried to separate them. Françoise, youngest and the only girl, was standing on a chair shrieking for them to defend her from the dragon. The dragon was played by her father, Cédric, who crawled on the floor, roaring. Thirteen-year-old Alexandre pummeled him with a pillow.
Sandrine sighed deeply, then approached the damsel in the tower. The dragon sat back on its haunches, grinning gleefully. Alexandre held the pillow behind his back. The other three boys kept fighting until Jean-Louis walked over and cleared his throat loudly. Sébastien grabbed his cousins by the arm, and they all turned to see what was happening.
“Time for bed,” Sandrine announced, her normal shyness gone, replaced by a grim stare that swept the room. The children groaned but all gathered around her—daughter, sons, and nephews—leaning in for kisses. Then Cédric hauled her against his body and kissed her deeply, earning groans of “Oh, Papa!” from his sons.
Not just protected but honored and listened to. And loved.
Chapter Ten
Emmanuel woke early to whispering. He peeled his eyes open to find Alexandre and Sébastien peeking into his room and Marcel sitting up on his pallet on the floor. Their heads swiveled toward him, and their eyes widened to see him watching.
“Bonjour, Tonton Manu.” Marcel’s voice was very small.
Manu grunted a laugh at his guilty expression. “I guess if we’re not invited to the king’s levée, you can make do with your uncle’s.” He glanced at the window. At least the sun was up. “Toss me my breeches, Monsieur Marcel.” He shoved his sheet down and swung his legs out of bed, then stretched. He yawned hugely.
Marcel gawked at his bare chest. Manu had been too hot to sleep in his nightshirt and removed it after a restless hour, but luckily he had left his smallclothes on. “My shirt, too.” He glanced at the doorway, and Alex and Seb beat a hasty retreat. Manu wondered if he had ever seen a man’s chest when he was a skinny boy.
The boys might have been staring at the bruise blooming across his left side. He prodded it carefully and rolled his left shoulder, neither of which did more than twinge slightly. Falling down the stairs was nothing compared to falling off a horse.
He yawned again. Of course, it hadn’t been only the heat in his room which kept him awake, it was the internal heat as he thought of Catherine.
“Are we having a fencing lesson before I fence with the gentlemen?” He glanced at Marcel, who was scrambling into his own clothing.
The boy turned quickly, hands paused on the buttons of his breeches, his eyes wide. “Are we? We can? With you? Please!” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And with Oncle Dom?”
Manu laughed. As Dom ran the guard school where all the boys in the family were trained, he had more credibility as a sword instructor. He had taught Manu and was strict but patient—he had needed all his patience when Manu moved to his château. Manu, on the other hand, was patient with horses, but people put his teeth on edge.
Manu was the one the boys went to with questions about horses, so he supposed it was fair for them to ask for Dom about swords. He shrugged. “We’ll ask him. First we’ll say goodbye to your father, of course.”
Marcel’s smile dropped away. Was he homesick already? Jean-Louis typically kept his family close. Jean-Louis had been at war and knew what violence and death looked like. There had been enough trouble in the family to merit extra caution.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”
Marcel shrugged and looked down to finish dressing.
Manu had embarrassed him. He finished with his own clothing and patted the boy on the shoulder on the way past.
****
The baronesse declared that, since the sun was shining, she wished to walk outdoors, and Catherine was to come with her. The baron declared his wife too weak, but she glared at him. He finally agreed to find her a palanquin and stomped off to borrow one from a friend. The baronesse was nearly to the top of the closest staircase, leaning heavily on Catherine’s arm with an anxious Swiss guard right behind, when her husband arrived with a burly footman who carried the baronesse gingerly down the stairs and placed her in the palanquin.
The baronesse stubbornly refused to speak to the baron at first as revenge for treating her as if she were weak. When they reached a flat area of parterre, she declared herself ready to walk, and took her husband’s arm and replied politely when he spoke to her.
Catherine relaxed at the baronesse’s other side, letting her mind wander as they meandered slowly through the aisles between beds of elaborately trimmed low hedges and flowers. The palanquin bearers stood nearby, chatting with the Swiss guardsman. Catherine wondered how long the baron would pay for the guard. Presumably until the poisoner was caught. Or else all the servants would be fired and the baronesse moved into the baron’s household. She wondered if she was a servant who would be fired or if she would be arrested and tortured into confessing to things she did not do.
She shuddered.
“Are you cold?” The baronesse’s voice was as harsh as ever, finding weakness instead of reason for sympathy.
Catherine assured her it was just a passing chill. The baron surveyed her gravely, then nodded and winked at her over his wife’s head.
“Grand-père! Grand-père! Come see!”
The baron and baronesse’s grandson, Alexandre, waved madly to them from the terrace above. The baron’s face lit up and he seemed on the verge of dropping his wife’s arm, but instead he called back, “In a few minutes.”
The boy frowned, then bowed to his grandmother and Catherine and turned away. In a moment, the boy’s father, Monsieur Cédric, peered over the heavy stone banister. He grinned at his parents, then called out, “At least send up Mademoiselle de Fouet! She can watch the boys’ contest.”
Catherine stared in s
urprise. The baronesse frowned, but the baron immediately directed her toward the closest stairs and Monsieur Cédric met her at the top.
“Now, I love my mother and father, but surely you wish to spend more time with the younger set, eh?” He grinned at her, and she looked at the crowd of de Cantière men and boys, and several more boys, not all of whom Catherine remembered seeing before. Even little Françoise held a sword. The Comte de Bures was standing in the middle of the crowd, demonstrating some maneuver, the children staring avidly.
Monsieur Cédric chuckled. “We’re quite a warlike clan, Mademoiselle. We only appear civilized.”
Monsieur Emmanuel stepped into the circle and helped the comte demonstrate. His coat was off and his linen shirt strained against his shoulders, making Catherine gasp.
The cluster exploded in talk, and people paired off, Françoise with her Uncle Henri, who had not struck Catherine as a doting sort of uncle but who now steered the girl to a clear area and solemnly showed her how to salute.
“That’s my cue, Mademoiselle. I’m paired with Dario.” Monsieur Cédric settled Catherine on a bench and plucked a bent fencing foil from a box on the ground.
Little Françoise got tired—or bored—first and sat next to Catherine with a huge sigh as Monsieur Henri turned to find a new pupil among the boys. They watched in silence, the girl distracted by birds and craning her neck at passing nobles. The Baron de la Brosse finally arrived, just as Catherine saw the baronesse’s palanquin go up a distant staircase. The baron admonished her to stay and let the maid take care of the baronesse, who was going up to her rooms. He kissed his granddaughter and removed his coat, gently placing it on top of his sons’ coats on another bench. He rummaged through the sword box until he came out with a really decrepit foil, and Catherine heard him challenge a grandson to a duel.
“I like sword fighting,” announced a voice next to her. Françoise nodded her head solemnly when Catherine looked at her in surprise. “Tata Aurore says I should know how to defend myself. But I like dancing better. And dolls.”
Catherine had to reflect for a moment to remember “Tata Aurore” was the Comtesse de Bures.
The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) Page 17